The Sleepwalkers
by bublinka
Summary: The Blight is over and Alistair is crowned King. Is that what he really wanted? Seeking peace for himself Alistair finds that Blight was just an echo from a greater war... Alistair-centric, some Alistair/Amell.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is my first story based on Dragon Age and the second fanfic in my life. This story starts after game's end, put aside that "ending" (slide show). Awakening's not considered here, as I'm playing it right now. I tried to fill in some logic gaps in world description and history. If you see any contradiction with DA tell me please. I'd like to avoid such things.

I still haven't received any answers from possible beta-readers and I'm in need of one. If you feel you have free time for me - welcome!

King Alistair Theirin was sitting in a massive wooden armchair near the fireplace. That fire was the only source of light in his large room in Redcliffe castle. It was late in the evening and rain was pouring outside making a soporific sound, because it was June and castle's windows were open.

Alistair was staring into the fire and in spite of being close to it his face seemed to be darker than the rest of the room. Big mabari was half-sitting half-lying by his left site. It raised its head and whimpered plaintively looking into his human neighbor eyes.

"I know, my friend, I know." Alistair muttered patting dog's head lightly.

He had just returned from the funeral of his fellow Grey Warden, the savior of all Ferelden, his first and only true love, Solona Amell. All those days from Blight's end and till now he was acting as a righteous king and a confident leader, but he felt like being inside a deep stone well. Then he returned to Redcliffe (Denerim palace was in no state for a King residence). It was his home and suddenly all his defenses fell down like defeated golem. And then, the pain came. Immense, mind-penetrating and will-weakening pain.

Alistair had to admit it was even worse than after Duncan's death. Who could ever think there could be such a thing? Alistair missed him much, but he was at least an old man – old for a Grey Warden, of course. It was unavoidable and that helped a little. Also, Duncan was always a mixture of a father and a senior officer to him, which made Duncan responsible for Alistair and not vice versa, as it was in case with Solona. She was younger than him, a woman and joined later than he – everything put Alistair in a position of her defender. And now he failed her. _Failed_. That word reminded him of Gauntlet and the Guard of Andraste's Ashes. What would he ask now? Even if Alistair felt he'd failed Duncan in a way, now he was absolutely sure he was guilty.

Those memories of their recent adventures made Alistair sigh. He felt his back becoming numb and leaned back into armchair, continuing to sink into his gloomy thoughts. There was another thing that disturbed him, and that was the worst thing about that entire situation. He felt deceived, betrayed, tricked by some evil mind. As if somebody put a bandage on his eyes and when he finally managed to open them all was done and done against his will. He tried to think that Solona's death was just an accident, that nobody knew Riordan wouldn't be able to make the final strike, that… "Oh, Maker, who am I trying to fool?" Alistair lamented quietly, running his hands through his hair. He sighed and shook his hand.

He _was_ deceived. By her. He remembered that dialog very vividly and that was the last he saw of her alive.

_They managed to eliminate all darkspawn outside Denerim walls. Riordan suggested going to Fort Drakon as the most probable place of the Archdemon appearance. Small group, he said. And then Solona chose Wynne, Sten and Ohgren to go with her. Two mages and two warriors. Nice choice, really._

_But being a good fighter himself Alistair was at least very surprised, shocked in fact. It was the first time since they met she wouldn't accept his help. They argued._

"_You're a King now, Alistair. You have to stay with your men and inspire confidence in them," Solona said looking tenderly into his eyes._

"_But I'm a Grey Warden in first place! I have to be there with you and fight the Archdemon!" he insisted trying not to get distracted by her eyes._

"_That's only Riordan's speculation, Archdemon can appear anywhere," Solona waved her hand carelessly. She smiled a little. "Isn't it wise to divide our Warden forces?" she suggested. "If it comes here you kill it, if there – Riordan kills it. It's not dangerous for me, you see?" she ended putting emphasis on "not"._

"_All right, then. We've got no time for arguing," he finally yielded seeing her reasons. "Just… be safe," he eyed her anxiously._

"_Don't worry, my king. I shall not fail you," she answered in a mockingly official tone and something sparkled in her eyes. Suddenly she leaned forward and kissed him. That was short but very passionate and deep kiss, tasting of hope, trust and… tomorrow. Solona parted from him as abruptly as she began it, leaving something small and warm in his hand. She walked rapidly from him followed by others. Alistair just stared at her still unable to believe she'd already gone. Only after a few seconds he looked at his hand. There was her Warden's Oath, still warm from her body._

"_What's it?" he cried to her, puzzled._

"_A gift!" she threw back casting a light smile at him._

"_Gift?.." he muttered, but Solona was too far to continue their dialog and he had darkspawn to kill and men to organize. So he just put it in his little bag with health poultices and forgot about it._

She deceived him. How could he believe that? "Only a speculation", right. From an experienced Grey Warden. Really, why should a dragon go to a vast field full of archers instead of aiming for a small tower top he can flame all around from? "I'm simply hopeless," Alistair admitted bitterly. He traveled with Solona for many months and he saw her lying and persuading people all along their way, from bandits to merchants to nobles at the Landsmeet. How could he forget that firm stare full of confidence and tenderness at one time? That calm voice and motherly intonations she used anytime to lull somebody's mind?

Now, replaying that situation in his mind for a millionth time Alistair could see something wasn't right about her then. Her broad usually pink cheeks he loved so much were pale. She was joking a lot and was _his_ usual tactics to hide real emotions. She avoided looking at him after their kiss. And that amulet she'd given him was the strangest thing…

Alistair took her Warden's Oath in his right hand and examined it. Just a simple vial with brown coagulated blood on an iron chain. A _creepy_ gift. Why would she give it to him? Was that made to distract him, to puzzle and draw his attention to something unimportant? How dared she playing her cheap tricks on _him_? He was so used to her honesty, openness, he couldn't even think she'd be ever lying to him! That's not just a trick, it was a betrayal! Alistair clenched the amulet in his fist and raised his hand…

"_Going in circles, are we? Ready to smash another amulet at the wall?"_ said someone in a very unpleasant voice and with Wynne-like intonation right inside his head.

"No, no, no," he whispered frightened by his own fury. He pressed Oath to his chest carefully. That was memory. Memory of her. _"Oh, really? How ironical,"_ he thought remembering his own words he said filling that very amulet.

"_Something to remind us… of those who didn't make it so far."_

And now all became crystal clear. Solona gave her Oath for him to remember her if she didn't make it so far. And she didn't. Alistair sighed deeply feeling helplessly, extremely lonely and angry at himself. He closed his eyes, aching and filled with tears, with his left hand, his mind shouting from all that injustice and pain. He wished somebody would come now and kill him in the most tormenting way…

And then there came a knock at the door. Shocked that somebody really came Alistair headed to the door because it was locked.

"Yes?" he asked in a slightly trembling, tired voice.

"Alistair… I mean, Your Majesty… I have something for you," it was Leliana and she stretched a hand with a small sealed scroll.

Alistair didn't pay any attention to his new title and took the piece of paper and studied it, intrigued. There were no signs on the seal or scroll itself.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A letter… from Solona." Leliana forced her self to end the sentence. "She gave it to me the morning before battle. And asked to give it to you, if… you know what." She finally added in a broken voice. Leliana loved Solona too, and Alistair knew that. He felt pity for the girl. She should have really stayed in Lothering… But Lothering was captured by darkspawn. _"There's no easy way in our life,"_ he thought.

"Thank you. Why is it still sealed?" Alistair didn't really know what to say. He said the first thing that came into his mind, considering Leliana's curiosity. "I mean, why didn't you read it? I know she was important to you…" he added trying to be compassionate and soften his blunt question. But Leliana already looked offended.

"I know I sometimes put my nose in others' business. But Solona was my best friend. I loved her." She stared angrily at Alistair. "She's shown me I can be different from Marjolaine. And I can. She asked me to give it to _you_. And I gave." Leliana said in a stern voice, turned on her heels and walked away.

He sighed. He never really liked that Chantry-loving rogue. But now he was wrong, he acted as a selfish and thick-skinned man. Why should everything be so complicated?

Alistair closed the door and glanced over the room. His – her, but now his – mabari was sleeping beside the fire. He took a candle and lit it. Then he sat at his table holding that scroll in his both hands. That little piece of paper was a kind of miracle and wasn't able to open and read it. That letter contained some part of Solona that wasn't his memory of her, something that was really _her_. There, wrapped in a sheet of paper, she was living until he opened it.

Sound of thunder cut the magic of the moment and Alistair finally chose to read the letter. The paper was all covered with her nice letters (Alistair was also taught to write, but he never had a good practice, so he always found her and Wynne's handwritings fascinating). The letter was rather short and matter-of-fact in tone:

"_My dear Alistair,_

_I'm sitting here in your room in castle Redcliffe and you're already asleep. You look so pleased and innocent in your sleep that I'm almost starting to feel motherly feelings towards you. Just joking, dear._

_Now, to more serious matters. I believe I owe you're an apology and explanation. But really, that's simple. I'm a Grey Warden and you're a Grey Warden and a King. You have more duties and more uses, than just die killing the Archdemon. Just facts. Anyway, if you die Anora will become a Queen and sooner or later she'll revenge me for Loghain's death. That's not an option for me. I've made that decision myself. It was a difficult choice, but in fact the least difficult comparing with our previous adventures._

_And I'm sorry. I'm the one who've kept saying to you – decide for yourself, be confident… And I'm deciding __for__ you again. I guess I can never let you lead, that's just my nature. But now, you should, no you must take your time and act as a leader. Be a glorious King and a happy man._

_With all my love and hopes for tomorrow,_

_Solona._

_P.S. Won't you be so kind to give my books to Dagna, that dwarven apprentice girl? Thanks in advance._

Alistair read it several times. So, she writing that letter just after their last… well, night before the final battle. She came into this very room and stayed with him, but he didn't know she wasn't sleeping when he was. She had some quarrel with Morrigan before that, but he guessed he would never know what it was about. That was a wonderful night; he was so involved in his feelings that he almost forgot about coming battle and fell asleep contented.

He looked at the letter once more. Despite all the words it had a light-hearted intonation. And that _post scriptum _made it look like a note from someone who had just left for a short trip to Highever and asked for a little favor. It was such a nice feeling to imagine that, but Alistair simply couldn't. "Books to Dagna," he repeated mindlessly. He could send anyone to the Circle with his King's authority. But suddenly Alistair felt he wanted to go there himself, to get some more of Solona, her past and things that connected her with that place. And books… Alistair stood up and carefully put the letter into his pocket. He decided to go to her room to find those books… It was night already, but he didn't feel sleepy. He found pleasure in doing what she'd asked, nonetheless it was rather unimportant. He took his candlestick and went out to the dark corridor.

Finally he reached her room. The door wasn't closed and he entered slowly closing it behind him. There were some burning candles on the table. He thought it was strange but didn't pay much attention. He sat at the table that was covered with flasks, pieces of paper, unknown ingredients and books. One of the books was opened and lay just near to him. He leaned closer and studied it. It wasn't a book in fact. It was a mixture of copybook, journal and diary, where she'd written down new spells, recipes and other useful observations, and also comments on current situation. He understood almost nothing in her writing – but he enjoyed just looking at her handwriting. It was very nice and neat at the beginning – probably her apprentice writings – and became worse when they began camping in the wilds. Sometimes he stumbled upon sentences he could understand.

"_Cone of Cold and Stone Fist is a nice combination! Shatters target almost every time."_ Yes, that was her favourite way to deal with mage foes. Alistair remembered how Solona would run into battle ahead of their group and attack mages. She'd often finish that battle lying unconscious, because she undertook all the damage appearing first. But she gave them an opportunity to deal with only non-mage foes and that's good even if you were a templar. He'd often told her that a mage shouldn't run into battle first. And she said she was not only a mage, but a leader. She also always teased him saying she was better at fighting mages than him. Alistair smiled lightly and turned the page.

"_Finally found all Juggernaut pieces. Made Alistair wear it – he looks funny with a pony tail!" _And a small rough picture of his helm. His heart shrank painfully. It looked so much like little girl's diary! He never asked her about age, but she was probably younger than 20. His good mood vapoured into nothing and he shut the book fiercely, causing some flasks to fall and break. "Oh, blast it," he cursed under his breath. How could she really carry those fragile things with her? Solona was always loaded with her herbalist stuff, so he and other companions used to carry her other things. Alistair personally was carrying her tent. He remembered, how he wondered what would happen if he _accidentally_ lost it and suggested his one instead? _"How very smart of me. She would probably accept my offer and leave me outside,"_ he thought. It was strange, but Blight or not, things were easier then. He was only concerned about them not be killed and their starting relationship. Probably, that was so because _she_ made all decisions, led their way, and he had only followed her happily just like Mabby, her mabari. _"Take your time and act as a leader"_ she wrote. How does one do such things?

The door opened and somebody entered the room.

"Alistair? What are you doing here?" It was Wynne.

"I, uh… remembering." he stated.

"I see. I'm trying to sort things here. Separate books, scrolls, unnecessary scraps of paper…" Wynne waved her hand at different piles on the floor. "I came out to bring some rag. There's so much dust here…"

Alistair chuckled shortly. "I was right. You _are_ grandmotherly."

"And you're grandchildish, or simply childish," she retorted. "You have already broken something here, I see."

"I…yes." Alistair seemed to be embarrassed a bit. "But, Wynne, I have something to tell you. Solona asked me to give her books to Dagna. I'd like to go to the Circle myself. Would you accompany me? You were heading there, anyway, right?"

Wynne looked surprised. "I was planning it, yes. But you? That's a strange act for a King. You'd better make some valid reason for that," she advised.

"I can always say that I'm going to inspect how my instructions are being executed. About autonomy and templars," he explained.

"Hmmm. Still not very convincing." Wynne remarked. "But all right. I think I can go with you. I'm not that sure if we can go without guards and all, though…" She took a book and wiped it.

"I can do what I want, I guess." Alistair replied firmly.

"Sure, my dear king." Wynne smiled turning back to him. "Now, would you like me to make you some sedative potion? I'm a rather good herbalist, and you need to sleep before going anywhere."

"I think, yes. Thank you," he replied absentmindedly. His thoughts were already on their way to the Circle of Magi.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I did it! Chapters 2 and 3 are actually one chapter, but I decided to split that 8k-words monster in two parts. Hope you will like it. Here you can look at my Amell, if you like - links in my profile (I failed to put them here). And don't forget to review! It's a bit sad to get almost 100 hits and no reviews. Thanks for your attention!

The first thing Alistair did in the morning was writing a note to Arl Eamon. That note contained request for Arl to be some kind of regent while he, King of Ferelden, was away. Alistair asked to give him a week, just in case. He imagined that Arl Eamon would be furious with such behaviour, but… _"Nobody tells Kings what to do."_

Secondly, Alistair wanted to apologize to Leliana, but unfortunately he was told she'd left for Haven, heading to the Andraste's Temple. That decreased their party to the number of two men – Wynne and him. Sten had gone to his homeland, Zevran disappeared as nothing held him in Redcliffe more, and Ohgren was nowhere to be found (probably lying drunk somewhere). After the war their group suddenly disrupted into very different and even not very friendly to each other persons. And nothing held them together now.

Wynne came to Alistair's room around breakfast time and they both went to Redcliffe docks. Alistair had put some simple leather armor on him, by force of his armor-wearing habit. Though he didn't want to draw any attention to that departure, so King's armor was out of question. King of Ferelden and his mage advisor marched silently through nearly empty, waking up streets and finally got aboard medium sized boat with five men in it.

All was too quiet: the boaters, the water and themselves. Earlier then, when they traveled altogether, Alistair was the one to start conversations, even with uncommunicative Sten. But now he couldn't think of any topic to discuss and what's more he had to keep his kingly attitude in front of his subjects. Wynne felt that awkward silence was starting to make them both nervous. Having realized they were sitting far enough from the boat's crew she began to speak in a quiet voice.

"So, Alistair, are you serious about mages' autonomy?"

He seemed to waken up from a daydream.

"What? Ah… yes, quite serious. Why, do you think that's too daring?" he added a bit anxiously. He hadn't really considered all the consequences of his decision. That idea had originated only from his emotions and his personal dislike for templars' actions.

"Well, that's a radical change. I'm sure mages like Irving are quite capable of looking for themselves, but there are others… like Jowan and Morrigan… I do not blame them, but they can be a danger to society," she stated and a light shadow came across her face.

"Apostates and blood mages? Yes, they can be a danger, but can't mages regulate those things by themselves? You have plenty of methods," Alistair shrugged his shoulders. "It's not the templars who make people Tranquils. Anyway, we shouldn't think of mages as a kind of malicious sect planning to conquer the world in the form of abominations!" he pointed out smiling.

"Yet mostly it is thought so," Wynne sighed. "You're right, we need to take responsibility, need to learn to guard ourselves. But I do not know how long it will take to do that. And what happens in between…"

"I'm not going to hang all templars tomorrow, don't worry," Alistair reassured her goodhumouredly. "Just let me weaken templar's grip on mage's throat. And Jowan will have to face templars' judgment, if he is a blood mage indeed," he added more sternly.

And even that little talk died after a while. They chattered about weather and other stupid things several times on their way but mostly remained silent. The sun was going to horizon when they finally got to Circle Tower. Having stretched their numb legs two companions left the boat and entered the Tower. The first person to meet them, as ironical as it seemed, was Dagna. She felt it was her honourable duty to meet Tower's guests after all that mages had done for her. Also, she was longing to hear the news, as she was a curious girl and Tower life was somehow restricted in that way.

"Good evening, dear guests!" she exclaimed smiling with both her mouth and eyes. "Oh, it's _you_! How wonderful!"

Alistair thought that a little more excitement and she would jump on him and hug him.

"Uh…great to meet you again," he smiled gallantly. She didn't know anything, he thought.

"Dagna, my dear girl, we came to give some valuable books that Solona – you do remember her – found and bought during our adventures," Wynne said softly. She understood it was hard for Alistair to speak about that and decided to take things in her hands. "She wanted them to belong to you now."

Dagna was puzzled by Alistair restraint, but she was eager to look at her new treasure. Leaving her mixed feelings behind, she continued:

"Oh, thanks! I just love reading, but know what? I've came to a thought that even if I can't do magic, I still can do experiments. With substances," she explained. "I have so much time, because I don't need to study spells…" she stopped herself. "Sorry, enough about me. Can I lead into apprentice rooms where I live? We can put those books there, and I'd like to have a look at them." She turned and began to walk along the corridor.

"Don't tell her," Wynne whispered to Alistair. He nodded silently.

He walked and gazed around. Mages – or probably templars - had cleaned their rooms from dead bodies and blood but there still was much disorder everywhere. He remembered when he first arrived in the Tower, when he attended Harrowing as a future templar. In those days Tower was magnificent and full of strength , and it seemed like a miracle building to him – high ceilings, light-grey stone carvings and dignified mages all around. But that was a miracle from a horror story, not from a fairy tale, as he learned then. And he didn't wish those times to return. He would give mages autonomy, free them and they would rebuild in the name of his love…

Dagna opened the door and Alistair's attention switched to that neat cozy room with beds, tables and small windows.

"You can put them here," Dagna waved her hand at the little drawer near her bed. "Can I look at them?" she pleaded happily, taking books from Wynne's hands. "The Tome of Arcane Technique… The Tale of Iloren… The History of Lyrium Works… You know, I'm _very_ interested in lyrium! Because we, dwarves, mine it," she added for explanation, somewhat proudly. "I've made some experiments with it. I've mixed lyrium – in potions, of course, - with _everything_ I could get! Even with the darkspawn blood," she said mystically. "Sadly, the Blight is over and I can't repeat it," she sighed. "You see, when I mixed lyrium and that blood my flask simply exploded! Such huge blast of energy!" Dagna exclaimed delightedly.

"Darkspawn blood?" Alistair asked frowning a little. "Do templars know about your… hmmm…experiments?" He was unsure if it was safe and allowed to do such things.

"But it's only blood, not blood magic, you know. I've used mine too, but it didn't work," Dagna started to make excuses. "Anyway, templars don't even notice me. No Fade – no control."

"And they call it work," Alistair grumbled under his breath.

"Well, Dagna, I'm sure you'll like your new books and I'm afraid we have to go now," Wynne interrupted them, as she didn't like that templar-like tone of Alistair.

"Are you going to see First Enchanter Irving? But he has not fully recovered from the Denerim battle, and isn't seeing anyone these days…" Dagna said thoughtfully.

Alistair felt uneasy. Even Irving, rather old man, had faced the Archdemon. And he, King of Ferelden stayed in the rear… He hated those thoughts.

"We'll go and see Knight-Commander Gregoir instead," Wynne suggested. She knew that both of them didn't really desire to meet that man, but official visit is an official visit.

"He's up there, in Templars Quarters. But I heard he's busy." Dagna warned them.

"He will see us," Alistair replied firmly.

"Oh, all right. I'll get your rooms prepared," Dagna suggested.

They thanked her, said their goodbyes and left the room. On their long way upstairs Alistair continued:

"Do you really think it's safe to allow her do such things? She's a bit crazy, as I see it."

"Oh, don't be so tough. Dagna's a nice girl and won't do anything prohibited, I'm sure." Wynne replied confidently.

"Let's hope," he answered simply.

On the fourth floor, where Templars Quarters were situated they faced a closed door and a young templar standing next to it.

"Where is Knight-Commander Gregoir?" Alistair asked in his 'king voice'.

"He and other templars are inside, my lord. They're questioning a blood mage," young man added with a frightened look. "No one is allowed to enter," he stretched his arm across the door.

"I'm King of Ferelden and this is my advisor," Alistair stated in an impatient of contradiction tone. "We will enter."

Young templar blushed and said hastily:

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty…" Nobody had instructed him that King would come and nobody had told him what King looked like. Alistair didn't say anything just opened heavy wooden door and stepped inside. Wynne followed him.

Gregoir was indeed there. He stood in front of young dark-haired man with white face and scare written on it. That was Jowan, Alistair recognized him. He looked even worse than in Arl's dungeon. Other templars formed a half-circle behind Jowan and were concentrated on disabling him. Alistair counted six of them. So, "highly dangerous", was he?

"Do you admit that you taught your _blood_ magic to a young innocent child? Taught him to summon demons and to wake the undead?" Gregoir's voice was very cold, one can even say icy. It echoed across the walls of almost empty room.

"No…no, my lord!" Jowan pleaded looking around helplessly. "I've only taught him simple things, like Winter Grasp or Lightning. On unanimated objects," he added in a hurry to avoid new accusations. "I didn't summon the demon, nor did Connor."

"You are lying." Gregoir's words fell down like stones. "Why would you teach primal magic if you're a blood mage? Won't you need an apprentice of your own kind?" Gregoir said without asking a question. That was a _statement_.

Jowan swallowed hardly. No one listened to him. He explained that he only wanted to make some money to live on hundred times, he was not even interested in that boy, he only did that following Teyrn's orders… He opened his mouth to say that for one hundred and first time and flung his hands up emotionally, failing to find other way to express himself. Suddenly he felt a sting of pain through all his body again, his legs weakened and he fell to the floor.

"Don't move your hands, mage!" Gregoir commanded. Those were templars, who reacted at Jowan's suspicious movements. "I know all your tricks too well. Stand up and answer my questions!" he ordered.

Alistair saw templars in their full action for the first time in his life. That was nearly unbearable sight – pale face, trembling hands and legs and weak, almost lifeless voice of young mage. Alistair even felt sorry for him, though he disliked him from their first meeting. He was at least very surprised when Solona asked Arl Eamon to let Jowan go, but now he understood her. _That_ was what he decided to free mages from! That humiliating, painful procedure was really allowed by law!

He returned his eyes to the poor mage. Jowan was standing on his knees and Gregoir held mage's throat with his heavy gauntlet.

"So," he started very slowly, "you _do_ admit you taught blood magic to a child, don't you?" He strengthened his grip.

"I-I…" Jowan seemed to be unable to speak from that position.

Alistair couldn't watch it motionlessly no more. He _was_ against blood magic and blood mages, but that was too much. He stepped forward and said loudly:

"I think I've informed you about templars' authorities, Gregoir," His voice could match Knight-Commander's one in coldness.

"What?" Gregoir almost yelled, leaving Jowan to fall again without his hold and making a sharp turn. "I told no one is allowed to enter! Uh… Your Majesty?" he added cautiously, recognizing his King.

"We have things to discuss and I came here for that. I suggest you leave this poor man alone and lead me into your study." Alistair ordered.

Wynne reached forward and helped Jowan to get up. He was actually crying, remaining voiceless. "Thank you… I knew you'd help me… she'd always help me…" he muttered weakly, staring in nowhere like a blind man.

"Take him to his room and guard him," Gregoir nodded to his men. "We'll continue later."

"Will you, Knight-Commander?" Alistair asked quietly, yet dangerously.

Gregoir glanced at him irritated, but answered nothing.

"This way, Your Majesty," he showed them a door on the side of the room. They entered his study and sat at his table.

"What would like to discuss?" Gregoir asked impatiently, moving piles of his papers to the side of the table.

Alistair looked at Wynne, unsure what to say. He didn't know what he liked to discuss. He wasn't planning _this_, he wanted to talk to Irving.

"Actually, Knight-Commander, we came to see how you follow King's instructions about leaving mages to themselves. And, as we can see, you're doing it _not very strictly_." Wynne began. "As a mage myself I can only say I'm very disappointed you can't see that a mage is a human being first of all," she added in a reproaching tone.

Alistair nodded her thankfully. A wise advisor is a first thing any King needs.

"What are his charges anyway?" he asked. "I know that he poisoned Arl Eamon, but that's not your competence, but mine. It's not a mage crime," he stated.

Gregoir sighed. Why would that King – if you can say so – put his nose everywhere?

"He performed blood magic – I saw it with my own eyes. He has broken his phylactery…" Gregoir began.

"Phylactery?" That word seemed familiar. "Ah, yes. It is a vial with mage's blood, isn't it?"

"Exactly." Gregoir glanced at Alistair like an unpleased teacher. "We were unable to track him, and then he appears in Redcliffe and there is a possessed child with him. What should we think?" he continued producing his reasons.

"You shouldn't _think_ anything. Your duty is to find the _truth_," Wynne replied disapprovingly.

"We were finding it when you interrupted us!" Gregoir snapped back. That mage made him nervous, just like Irving sometimes.

"You call that finding? Looks more like draining it out with any methods… And draining not truth, but what you want to be truth!" Wynne argued angrily.

They continued to exchange those "pleasantries", but Alistair didn't pay much attention to that. His thoughts got concentrated on phylacteries. Solona surely had one. Where was it now? Her blood, part of her body, part of her…

"Alistair, are you listening?" Wynne asked loudly.

"I…what? Yes, I agree with you, whole-heartedly." He replied hastily. "Gregoir, tell me, what do you do with phylacteries of… dead mages?" he forced himself to say the word "dead".

Gregoir looked surprised but answered.

"We destroy them. Here, in Tower. Simply burn the blood together with the glass." That boy sure hadn't been attentive at his studies, Gregoir thought. All templars knew things about phylacteries!

"Have you already destroyed Solona's phylactery?" Alistair asked breathlessly.

"No it's just arrived from Denerim – or what's left from Denerim. It's still here. It's strange it has survived that battle," Gregoir answered colourlessly.

"Can I have it? Just… as a memory," Alistair asked quietly, almost whispered.

"Well, strictly speaking, you can not, Your Majesty." Gregoir stated confidently, and somewhat victoriously.

"What's the problem here? You're going to burn it down!" Alistair protested. Wynne touched his hand carefully, but he just shrugged her off. He was obsessed with the idea of touching Solona again.

Gregoir sighed. He really didn't want to have more trouble with his new King. One phylactery more, one less, who cares?

"All right. I'll lead you to the phylactery chamber. Since Irving's not well I've got both keys. And we have a mage," he looked askew at Wynne. "You'll see it's nothing special." He still thought it was just a stupid idea.

He took his keys from a drawer and came out of the room. Alistair and Wynne followed him, and they began their silent walk down the endless stairs and turning corridors again. _"What a gloomy place,"_ Alistair thought, _"Why haven't I noticed it before?"_ Even he, almost a templar himself, felt some oppression coming from Gregoir. And he got tired of all that stone, arched doors, and constant silence… How could mages spend all their lives there? And especially childhood? _"Like a big jail, where all prisoners were born guilty,"_ he considered joylessly. _"That's where the thoughts of disobedience and revolt come from."_

Wynne assisted Gregoir in opening the first door, and then Knight-Commander opened the second one with his keys. He stepped aside suggesting his King to go in first. Alistair entered the chamber and felt that terrific cold that was magically created to keep phylacteries safe, as he guessed. He glanced around amazed. All shelves, tables, drawers were full with small and big flasks of different shape. Some of them were bright red and some more brownish. They were dusty and some even dirty, and each had a small note with a name attached to their neck.

"Let me see… Yes, there it is," Gregoir pointed at small vial on one of the lower shelves. It looked like a tiny hexagonal pyramid. "Take it yourself, I can break it with my armor," he suggested.

Alistair approached the flask slowly, staring at dark red colour of its contents. Blood was really a fascinating thing, he had to admit. He bent a little, and stretched his hand, but on a second thought he pulled off his glove and took the phylactery with his bare hand. It was very beautiful, but not at all fragile, as you could think from first sight. _"Just like Solona herself,"_ he thought lovingly, covering the flask with his fingers. It was not cold as the rest of the room, but matched nicely the temperature of his hand, it was even a bit warmer.

"So warm," he whispered affectionally. He didn't mean to say that aloud.

"What?" Gregoir dropped his jaw. "How can it be? That's ridiculous…" he muttered hurriedly. He tore his gauntlet off and demanded: "Let me touch it!"

Alistair was astonished by such reaction, but he unclenched his fingers and passed the phylactery to the templar. Gregoir stared unbelievingly at his hand as he felt that it was indeed warm.

"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed. "I swear I saw her…" he turned his head to Alistair, then to Wynne with bewildered expression written over his face. "You were there too! I'm not insane!"

"What's up? Gregoir?" Alistair asked nervously. He didn't like the templar getting so agitated, that was just so not normal. Wynne kept silence, but she was obviously as puzzled as Gregoir. _"They know something I don't,"_ Alistair panicked a bit.

Gregoir didn't bother to answer anything. In fact he didn't seem to hear the question at all. He stood motionlessly, clasping the phylactery with his both hands. His eyes were closed and his forehead wrinkled. After a few seconds he opened his eyes, relaxed his posture and sighed: "As I expected… nothing…"

"Gregoir, will you please explain us… me?" Alistair corrected himself casting a glance at Wynne that looked very worried and thoughtful, but not as baffled as he himself.

Knight-Commander turned to them, but his face expressed nothing.

"I will. If you were attentive at your studies," he measured Alistair with his eye, "you'd know that mage's warm phylactery meant only one thing…" He paused and eyed his both companions fixedly. "That this certain mage is _not _dead." He ended rising his eyebrows and looking as if he awaited explanations from _them_. He stretched his hand calmly and put the phylactery back into Alistair's hand, as if saying _"I'm done with it, now it's not my problem"_.

"Not dead…" Alistair whispered, still afraid to believe those words. He felt hope blossoming forth in his soul and waking all his feelings again. But he tried to stop that knowing that falling from height can be even more painful.

"But I saw her body, it was definitely dead…" he muttered caressing little flask with his thumb.

Gregoir nodded plainly. "I was there, if you remember. That's confusing, I agree, so I tried to locate her using phylactery – I failed. If she's not dead, but not among living, there's only one place she can be in…"

"The Fade." Wynne ended his sentence darkly. "Trapped there with no body to return to and even no chance to die…" she added sorrowfully shaking her head.

"Precisely my thoughts," Gregoir agreed. "I think it's like when a mage is killed during Harrowing. Not necessarily dead, but can't return…" he considered. "I suppose it was very wise of you to burn her body, or else we could get the greatest abomination in human history – the Archdemon abomination. You can't trust mages to deal with demons…" he reasoned looking at Alistair approvingly. The latter, on the contrary, didn't approve a single word from that statement. He actually felt anger heating his cheeks and mind, his eyes narrowed.

"How dare you speak of The Hero of Ferelden in such manner?" he yelled. Wynne touched his shoulder and tried to stop him, but in vain. "She died defending _you_ and all you can think about is abominations!" Alistair's eyes flamed with fury.

Gregoir shrugged his shoulders unemotionally. He was clever enough not to react to such excesses.

"That is my _duty_." He stated firmly looking just very slightly offended. "Something I thought _you_ had heard of." His intonation meant the conversation was over.

Alistair cooled down listening to that calm voice and felt in fact ashamed. Blinded by his emotions he would burn all Ferelden only to save his beloved mage. Even now he neglected all his duties just to visit the place where she had lived.

"I-I'm sorry… I think I need to stay alone fro some time…" he tried to make an apology. Gregoir didn't answer.

"I'm sure Dagna had the guest rooms prepared for us. Let's go, I'll show you the way," Wynne suggested softly, guiding him to the exit of the chamber. She glanced back at Gregoir apologetically, but he didn't show any signs of noticing that.

Alistair's mind was confused and pained. The Fade. He was there only once, but remembered it as his worst nightmare. Ugly, fearful place, full of demons eager to torture a mage. And torture not physically, but mentally, driving you mad and making you helpless. And what if the Archdemon wasn't dead too? What if Solona had to fight him eternally? Alistair's guts froze at that thought. He hadn't even reconciled with her death and blamed himself for it. But to know he let her being infinitely tormented by an old evil? Oh, Maker. _"I must help her,"_ the thought kept pounding in his brain.

Wynne opened the door and said: "Well, here it is. My room is next to this. You need to have some rest, Alistair. Tomorrow, we shall leave for Redcliffe." She stated the obvious, but it was hard to find proper words.

Alistair nodded absentmindedly, as he entered the room and sat on his bed. He was depressed and ruined. But the desire to find Solona and the thought she was not entirely gone provided him some kind of stem to hang on and helped him not to give up completely. He glanced at Wynne who was still standing in the doorway.

"Wynne, we must help her. We must find her and at least let her rest in peace," he stared at the old mage hopefully. "You can go to Fade, can't you?"

Wynne only sighed. "I can. Not without the help of other mages, though. But how am I supposed to find Solona there? Fade is endless and changing."

"_Find? How does one find a mage?"_ Alistair thought quickly. "Of course! Wynne, look, if her phylactery still works – which I'm pretty sure - I'll be able to identify her location. I'm almost a templar, you know," he ended happily. Nice and easy solution!

"But _you_ can't go to the Fade, Alistair." Wynne explained patiently treating him like a little boy. "Pull yourself together. We can't help her." She continued sadly. "Good night," she added and left the room quietly. And he was left alone with his misery once more.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Nothing to say really. Enjoy! =))

That was a dead end. He can't go to Fade and Wynne can't find Solona there! But a man can't be a mage and a templar at one time! How stupid! He spent the biggest part of his life studying how to find mage, and now, when he really needed that skill, he couldn't! _"Templars aren't about finding, more about tracking,"_ he admitted bitterly. Nobody cared about mages themselves or about finding them for _mage's_ sake. No, templars were supposed to form a wall between mages and non-mages, a wall with swords unsheathed towards mages and backs shielding non-mages. Never vice versa. And so, no body – no presence in non-mage world – no danger – no concern… And the worst of all, that he himself had acted in that way! He saw her dead body, and destroyed it without a second thought, forgetting that mages could still be in Fade! When a mage went through the Harrowing, his body was still living. But Alistair remembered Niall, whose body was dead as he was dragged into Fade by the Sloth Demon. Yes, that made sense. Probably, when a mage went to Fade not willingly, he left his body completely and it seemed dead. _"I burnt her alive, killed her with my own hands…"_ Alistair realized aghast. That was unbearable!

He buried his face into his hands, sinking deeper in his depression, self-flagellation and who knows what else. He only came back to reality when he heard some voice behind him:

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need your help desperately…" someone began hesitantly. And that someone was definitely _male_.

Alistair, taken by surprise, raised his head and blinked. It was Jowan.

"You? How did you get here?" Alistair was really astonished to have such guest.

"That… doesn't matter…The guards are just very tired… Please, I need your favour," Jowan continued hastily, stumbling at some words. He hurried to explain the matter: "When we met in Redcliffe, Solona told that Lily was alright. I thought she – or you – might know where Lily was now, and… I wrote her a letter." Jowan showed a rumpled piece of paper and stretched his hand pleadingly.

Alistair looked bothered and displeased.

"And you dare to ask even more from her? After she had interceded with the Arl for you? Quite an audacious man, aren't you?" Alistair stood up and came up to Jowan, with intention to get rid of the mage written on his face. Jowan shifted his weight nervously.

"I know I have no right… But please! I'm a dead man for sure, and I only wanted to write her one last time…" he begged in a quiet voice. He glanced at Alistair in hope to see some understanding in his eyes, but seeing none stared back at the floor.

Alistair just frowned and twitched his lips in disgust. That mage could only whine and demand things done for him, he thought harshly, and even when she'd died he still was not fully content. King walked back to his table, and sat there eyeing Jowan disapprovingly.

"Anyway, I'm almost sure Solona had lied to you. She told me your story in brief, and I know Chantry rules too well. Your Lily is dead." Alistair spoke without a hint of compassion, for there was no place for it in his heart that was filled with grief.

Jowan paled even more, his legs shook and he clutched the edge of Alistair's bed not to fall. He sat down on it and pressed his now useless letter to his chest helplessly. He sighed fitfully, and ran his left hand over his face unable to breath for a moment. "Oh, Lily…" the mage whispered. His body was trembling with silent sobs and tears filled his closed eyes.

Alistair felt pity crawling into his heart, and that caused him feel both ashamed for his harsh behavior and irritated for unnecessary additional portion of sadness. He really needed to dismiss that man together with all his problems.

"Oh, please," Alistair scowled. "Now be a man, will you? Stop crying and get out of here, I don't the opportunity and the slightest desire to help you," he half-ordered half-begged.

Jowan stood up, trying to look proud and his eyes showed a great pain.

"You… you can't speak to me in like that! You just… don't know what it feels like to lose your love!" he accused Alistair hysterically.

Alistair's blood hammered in his head. Those unfair accusations made him furious and his pain gripped his heart with its claws. Alistair felt that breaking that thin sleezy neck of that loathsome blood mage would surely make him feel better. He sprang to Jowan and grabbed him by his collar. King's face was distorted with rage and his other hand reached forward to grip mage's neck… But suddenly, an image from Jowan's questioning flickered through Alistair's mind and he realized he was acting like Gregoir, he was using his strength against that skinny mage… Full of disgust, disappointment and shame he left Jowan go, involuntarily slamming him across the wall with the move of his sword-trained hand. Then he turned and walked to the room's window, trying to calm his mind and his breath. Finally he managed to say something.

"_You_ don't know what you're talking about. Solona is dead." Alistair said very quietly in a phlegmatic manner, yet his words almost echoed in deep silence that filled the room.

Jowan made some noise behind Alistair's back. He was still trembling, sitting on the floor. Leaning against the wall and using his right hand to get up Jowan wiped the blood under his nose with his left sleeve – he hit his face at bed's corner when he fell. He was so shocked to hear that news, that he merely couldn't say anything.

"But…how?" he could only exhale.

Alistair ignored that question. "And not only dead," he continued gravely, "but trapped in the Fade for an eternal torture." Alistair turned back – his face resembled a stone mask.

Jowan was still very pale, especially in contrast with his hair and his blood-stained lips, but he looked no more frightened, there was something very confident in his eyes.

"We can't let it be! We must do something! Save her!" he exclaimed hotly. "She'd done so much for me. I can't believe she's gone…" he added sadly in a quieter voice, shaking his head.

Alistair's heart warmed a little when he saw willingness in the man, the readiness similar to his own. He finally got an _ally_ in his mission, really unexpected one. But that problem of Fade still was there.

"I can't go to Fade, and you can't track a mage," he summarized it gloomily. But Jowan didn't turn disappointed.

"But I think you can!" he protested, in a hurry to answer the first part of Alistair's sentence and not hearing the second one. "I had so much time – first in Arl's dungeon, then here – and I tried not to go mad… I was occupying my mind with theory of magic. And especially about traveling to Fade…" Jowan glanced at Alistair's impatient face. "If you give me some time I'll explain you…"

"Just sit down and tell me everything." Alistair demanded. He never was good at any theories himself, but he couldn't believe that mage's word without further details. They both took their seats and Jowan began.

"The Veil in nothing more than an energetic barrier. You need a huge amount of energy to get through it. And I suppose that mages have more energy inside them than other people. But even mages need external source of additional energy. There is some kind of resonance between inner and outer energies, that's how I feel it. And the more energy you have in yourself the more powerful sources you can use," Jowan made a pause to regain his breath. He was a bit nervous as Alistair didn't seem to be interested in that lecture. But that's _theory_! "As to external sources – they are lyrium and… blood." Jowan added cautiously, as no one he met liked that topic. But Alistair didn't say anything, he decided to listen to the end first.

"I came to a conclusion that blood and lyrium have much in common. Blood is also a source of inner energy." Jowan explained further. "Nowadays, Chantry forbids us to study such things, but in Tevinter Imperium, when mages only began going to Fade there were experiments. They tried to send a non-mage there. They expected that bigger amount of lyrium would compensate the lack of energy in a man, so they used more and more lyrium in their rituals. But they failed, probably because lyrium is very poisonous and dangerous in such amounts. All their experiments were forgotten, and by the time the blood magic was discovered it was well-known that only mage can go to Fade."

"So what?" Alistair interrupted him. Despite his initial desire he just couldn't sit and listen to all that historical rubbish instead of discussing real things. "What is your proposal?"

"Just wait a bit more, I'm getting to it." Jowan promised. "I'm sure Tevinter mages were right, and using more energy will help us to send you in Fade. But I suggest taking blood instead of lyrium, as it's not at all toxic in any amounts. All we need now are – two or three dozens of victims to sacrifice…" Jowan considered making some calculations in his mind.

Alistair couldn't believe his ears. "Two or three dozens….what?" he gasped looking both frightened and angry. "I'm not using your filthy magic! No way!" he protested loudly. He was simply taken aback with that proposal. He shook his head energetically trying to get rid of even the slightest desire to consider that idea and pointed his hand at the door.

"Get out of my sight!" he yelled defensively. He didn't want, he actually was afraid to take any part in blood magic rituals.

Jowan didn't move. He just blinked several times, and there was an astonished look on his face.

"But I thought you'd do _everything_ to help Solona!" he exclaimed hotly, but seeing Alistair's frightened look he grasped his reasons. "Are you just afraid?" he asked in a mocking tone.

"Shut up!" Alistair snapped back. It was very painful to admit that, and it was very difficult to convince himself that he was only against what's prohibited. "You have no right to even say her name!" Was that mage really implying he was more willing to save her, than Alistair himself?

"Get out!" he repeated. "Or I'll go to Gregoir and tell him that you're planning to sacrifice people for your stupid experiments!" Alistair grabbed Jowan's shoulder and pushed him to the room's exit.

"You're not going anywhere…" Jowan hissed, now he was indeed angry. He couldn't let that templar to ruin his brilliant plan! He couldn't save Lily, but he could save Solona and he would do it! He shrugged the other man's hand off his shoulder and ran his hands under his nose that began bleeding again in this flurry. Feeling that familiar tingling at his fingertips Jowan cast a small paralysis spell on Alistair. He wasn't sure what to do next, but had to stop that man, just like that time when he tried to save Lily. Alistair froze and fell on the floor because his posture was unstable. He made a lot noise falling and his face was petrified with deadly expression.

Then the door slammed open and Wynne stormed into the room. She heard all that yelling and sounds of fighting and was very anxious about Alistair. But she didn't expect to see what she saw: Alistair trying to get up, cursing loudly and looking much disheveled and pale blood-covered Jowan that backed into the corner frightened with his own actions.

"What's going on here?" she asked worriedly. "Alistair, are you all right?" She helped him to stand up.

"All right?" he repeated floutingly. "That bastard performed his blood magic on me!" Alistair gazed at the mage with hatred. To think he felt pity for him!

"I only wanted to stop you. You were going to ruin my plan…" Jowan explained meekly. He felt he got himself in trouble again.

"Sit down, both of you," Wynne commanded calmly. They were just young apprentice boys who had just been fighting, she thought. "What plan are you talking about, Jowan?" She decided not to ask what he was doing there, and approach the matter directly.

Alistair sat on his bed and answered quicker than Jowan opened his mouth: "A little innocent plan to kill half a hundred people…" His tone was sarcastic and accusative.

"No, not that!" Jowan cried protesting. "You see, Wynne, I've found a way to let him," he pointed at Alistair that was rubbing his hurt back, "to go to Fade…" Jowan repeated his idea again.

Wynne listened attentively. She seemed to be torn with some inner contradictions, but Jowan ended she was calm and confident in her decision.

"Actually, Alistair, I think Jowan's right. We shall try all that we can." She stated quietly.

And again Alistair was dumbfound and speechless. Those mages, he thought, birds of feather, aren't they?

He looked at Wynne – she was deadly serious about what she said, determined. Alistair thought it was some kind of misunderstanding.

"But, Wynne! How can you?" he tried to use his last chance to make her change her mind. "Are you ready for a massive slaughter? For _blood_ magic?" he exclaimed helplessly.

Wynne glanced at him with gentle concern.

"Alistair, my dear, will you please let me finish? I am usually against blood magic, but in extreme cases, like this…" Wynne paused thoughtfully looking to the dark sky in the window. She remembered her dialog with Solona about that matter.

_It was in camp, late in the evening. They have freed Connor from a demon that possessed him with Irving's help. They were all very tired going up and up in the mountains to find that little village, Haven. Yet Wynne felt relieved that they managed to avoid unnecessary killing in their quest, and very glad that Irving finally saw that Solona was not some kind of maleficar, even if she had helped Jowan. But Solona her self was not very pleased, she was worried and silent on their way. And now she was sitting by the fire looking tiny and defenseless, though she was not a small girl in any sense. Wynne approached her and saw her disturbed face._

"_What troubles you, my dear?" she asked softly. She somehow felt herself responsible for the younger mage and sincerely wanted to help._

"_I've just been thinking… all over again… What if…" Solona raised her head and stared at Wynne questioningly. "What if Connor lived in Denerim? Or in Highever?" She paused and finally discovered what really troubled her so much. "What if we can't wait for Circle's help?"_

_Wynne lowered her gaze uncomfortably. She was supposed to be wise and all-knowing by the younger woman, but she didn't know the answer._

"_I don't know, Solona," Wynne whispered sadly. "Maybe it's Maker who prevented us from doing such choice." Really, only Maker knew what to do in such situations, she thought._

"_That's not an answer, and you know it," Solona stated unemotionally. That conversation didn't help, much as she expected. Nevertheless she continued. "What's better – to kill a mother or a child? A willing to die mother or a innocent knowing-nothing child? I like the first option more," she admitted gloomily. "I can't kill a little boy." She turned away from Wynne and gazed into the fire again._

"_But that's not a simple kill, that's blood magic," Wynne reminded her. "It's not something we can use carelessly," she added not very confidently, because she couldn't bear the thought of killing a child either._

"_Yes, blood magic… You know when I was in Fade, the demon offered to grant me such gift…" Solona paused remembering that ugly lusty face of demon. She wondered why all desire demons were made in feminine form. Maybe, they're all meant for templars, she thought wickedly. She didn't like templars. Nor did Jowan. "But Jowan!" she exclaimed hotly, getting back to blood magic topic. "I'm sure he has never been to Fade! He didn't do Harrowing! Could he just be born with that ability?" Jowan never really told her how he learnt it, he never told he was a blood mage in first place._

"_I don't know, my girl," Wynne shook her head. "I never heard of it, and Chantry tells us that all blood magic comes from demons." She used to believe Chantry, and never saw the reasons not to. "That's why it's forbidden."_

"_I think it's forbidden because it's too powerful for templars to control," Solona marked reasonably. "I know priests are doing much good to simple people, but I can never trust them in things relating to world order," she sighed. Wynne thought that lack of trusting make Solona's life even harder, but she was right in a way. There was much room for improvement in Chantry rules._

"_Wynne." Solona called her companion once more and Wynne woke from her thoughts. "If we can assume Jowan didn't bargain with any demon, and Isolde was… in fact willing to take part in his ritual, then… what is really so bad about blood magic itself?" Solona wondered musingly. That was an unexpected question, and Wynne admitted she couldn't find any answer._

"_I suppose nothing. Especially in extreme cases." Wynne answered slowly._

That _was_ an extreme case. And Wynne was full of determination.

"There's nothing bad in blood magic when someone is willing to sacrifice. Sometimes it can even be the wisest decision," Wynne assured Alistair, with her usual calm demeanor. "And _I_ am willing to do it," she finally revealed her plan.

Both Alistair and Jowan stared at her unbelievingly. 'Shock' was too light word to describe their condition.

"Wynne, you can't… We can't… The Circle needs you…" Alistair muttered weakly. He didn't want another death lying heavy on his conscience. And Wynne had helped him so much, how would he do without her? _"Maker's breath! I'm again thinking about myself! She can't die, that's not right!"_ he thought painfully.

"That's rubbish, Alistair, and you know it." Wynne objected, and that was partly true. "Circle have Irving, they will do well even without me. And I'm already dead anyway. If I can be useful once more, so be it. I don't have much time and I won't change my mind," she ended firmly. There was no choice for her in fact. She could wait several months and simply die, or make that sacrifice and try to save that young girl from terrible fate. It was easier to make that decision than she thought it would be.

"Wynne, that's much unexpected… thank for your support," Jowan began, but he looked unsure. "But I think that… I mean your sacrifice, won't be enough," he said worriedly. He hated to mention it again but he had to: "Even though you're a mage, just one person is not enough…" Jowan stared at his feet guiltily. She trusted him with her life and supported him… but he had to decline her offer nevertheless.

"We must find a way, Jowan." Wynne answered inexorably. "This is our only chance, we can't involve other people. I hope you understand that," she glanced at him strictly. He didn't know where to stop, she thought, and that was his main problem.

Jowan nodded, but he didn't look very confident.

"Then we need to activate it – your blood – somehow. But I don't know if it is at all possible," he considered. "Raw lyrium is activated when being processed, but the initial steps are dwarven secrets," he mused in a low tone, "we can look in the library, but that can take ages…" Jowan stop pacing around the room and sat down. "And it probably wouldn't help either… We need a lot of energy, something like blast!" he exclaimed helplessly and flung his arms up.

"_Energy. Blast."_Those two words caught Alistair's attention. He could swear he heard them not so long ago… _"Think, Alistair, think," _he tried to concentrate on his recent memories. He arrived in the Tower, gave books to Dagna, and then went to seek Gregoir… Stop! He remembered he was very unpleased with that dwarven girl; she was using darkspawn blood in her crazy studies… "Of course! Dagna!" he blurted suddenly. Both mages turned their faces to him, Wynne anxious and Jowan disturbed.

"Dagna told us that when she mixed darkspawn blood and lyrium it exploded! _That_'s our blast!" Alistair explained eagerly. "You said our blood is similar to lyrium, didn't you?" he asked the younger mage that seemed to be thinking hastily. Jowan stood up and began pacing again running his hands through his hair.

"Darkspawn… I knew nothing of them!" he muttered. "It is very dangerous – I mean, I'm not afraid, but… we can lose our only chance in vain… Why do you think it will work?" He asked a question but didn't give Alistair a slightest opportunity to answer. Some idea crossed mage's face and he pointed his finger at Alistair strenuously. "Wait! _You_'re a Grey Warden! You're supposed to know everything about those creatures! What's there in their blood?" Jowan asked impatiently, almost grabbing Alistair's shoulders.

Alistair just stared at mage, uncomprehending. Was _he_ supposed to be a source of knowledge here? He blinked several times. Duncan never told him about that. And all he knew about darkspawn was from Chantry. Something like men metamorphosed by sin… Usual Chantry trash. The only special thing about darkspawn blood was Joining. And he was _not_ allowed to tell them about the ritual, and what's more he wasn't familiar with details. _"But… does it really matter now? I agreed to take part in blood magic, and now I'm hesitating about some stupid secrets! Maker, help us all…" _he thought. The decision was made.

"I'm not supposed to be telling you this," he began, looking at them a bit mischievously, "but as we all are into rule breaking here, I believe I'll do it. The one and only thing I know about darkspawn blood is that we, Grey Wardens, drink it at our Joining." He stared at Jowan expectantly, clapping his hands. "Am I being useful, ser mage?" he added mockingly. He felt just stupid. Discussing Joining with a blood mage. Insane.

Jowan seemed to be amused. "Drink?" he repeated thoughtfully. "But in that case we observe a direct contact between human body and tainted blood… And what happen?" he wondered.

"Nothing beautiful," Alistair grumbled. "Immense pain, flaming veins, faint and dreadful nightmares," he recited matter-of-factly. He still didn't see any sense in that discussion.

"Veins mean contact with blood, pain and fever heat means huge energy emission and nightmares mean Fade… That's it!" Jowan cried after mumbling things under his breath. "See? That reaction between darkspawn blood and yours has already led you in Fade! Incredible!" he continued happily.

"All right. Then we'll do it." Wynne suggested. "Mix them or whatever. But where do you think we can get it? Deep Roads?" she added hesitantly. She remained silent mostly because she felt her part was already done.

"No, no, no!" Alistair protested. "We have no time for that. I have it… here…" he pulled both amulets from under his shirt, removed them from his neck and showed to his companions. "They are our Oaths, and they are filled with darkspawn blood." He lowered his head and looked at two almost identical spheres. "I'm supposed to look at them and remember my brothers… and sisters…" he whispered in a trembling voice. _Sister._ The one he expected Goldanna would be like. The one he was going to find. The one who really mattered now. Then he gazed back at mages, and his face was firm and confident. "But I'm tired of mourning for dead. I'm the last Grey Warden of Ferelden, and no amulets can sooth my misery. Now is no time for handsome gestures and fine words. We will do what we must and no one will stop us." He didn't notice that he actually stood up during his speech, and both mages were impressed judging by their faces. Alistair blushed.

"Well, uh… How come I'm only good at speeches when they concern grave matters?" he wondered light-heartedly. At last, they had a plan of _real_ actions, and that calmed him down.

"Now we only need to get away from here," Jowan noticed reasonably. "For _me_ it is a bit complicated, with Gregoir, templars and all." He looked at his partners expectantly.


End file.
